


Yester-me, Yester-you, Yesterday

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [37]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: 1960s, Childhood, Illnesses, M/M, Multiple Selves, Time Shenanigans, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28608657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: Ted knew it. Weird things happen when you mess with temporal science. Like finding yourself standing face to face with your childhood self.[This arc begins in the previous chapter]
Relationships: Michael Carter/Ted Kord
Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282328
Comments: 21
Kudos: 33





	Yester-me, Yester-you, Yesterday

The little boy stares wide-eyed at them, familiar face pale with shock, his chest in the orange pajamas rising and falling with shallow breaths. It's unreal, seeing that face again, seeing this perfect three-dimensional outside view of it -- the nose, the eyes, the jaw -- rounded and childish but so distinct and recognizable it makes Ted feel like he's in a dream. In a dream, ready to wake up at any moment.

They're all frozen in this odd suspended moment together. Four people in that garage that doesn't exist anymore, not a sound, not the slightest movement between them, like they're all terrified of breaking the spell.

Finally it's Rip that slowly raises a hand towards little Ted. “Okay. Don’t --”

The child startles back, mouth already open. _“Moooom!”_ The voice is shrill with panic.

Ted dives forward on autopilot, launching himself behind the little kid (Himself. It’s _himself,_ he’s in the room with himself) and in the next moment he’s grabbed hold of the small, plump body, picking him off the ground, one arm wound around the small torso and tightly covering the mouth with his other hand.

_Crazy. Every part of this is absolutely fucking crazy._

The child thrashes, panicking, in his arms, but this must be before he got hooked on gymnastics, because there’s none of the core strength he would pride himself on in the future, no clear intent behind those violent movements other than an animal drive to fight himself free. Ted breathes through clenched teeth, holding on tightly, trying to take stock of what’s happening.

He’s so _heavy._ Heavier than a kid his age -- whatever his age -- should be, surely. He was such a little fatty. He can feel the round cheeks against his hand as he muffles the child’s shrieks and grunts of effort. A naked heel kicks against Ted’s shin and it’s agony, but he holds on. It’s all he can do, holding on, subduing him as best as he can, until they have a plan, until they can figure out how the hell they're going to solve this.

Okay. Think. _Think._ He yelled for his mom -- _their_ mom. Is she home? The bike is gone, why would her bike be gone if she’s here? Unless it’s gone for repairs or someone is borrowing it. Too many alternatives. How long since the kid yelled out? It feels like minutes, but everything is happening in slow motion. Slow motion as Ted squeezes his own child self to him, fighting to keep him still, keep him quiet.

He looks up, and Rip and Booster are just standing there, staring wide-eyed, frozen in their tracks. Useless. “Close the door!” he hisses at them, incredulous, glancing into the hallway through the door to the house. Shit, it’s all in there. Everything like it was. And his mom, perhaps. His mom who might hear his child self struggling and come in to find three costumed strangers in her house, holding her son hostage. _What'll you do_ then, _Ted?_

Rip nudges the door with his foot and it swings shut, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the adult and the child, the same person doubled in time, struggling against each other, and Ted imagines Rip is studying _him_ more closely than the kid.

Suddenly the boy almost seizes up in his grip and there’s a pause in his muffled shrieks -- a second of blessed silence -- before his torso curves forward and he coughs violently, ragged and wet against Ted’s palm, heaving for breath with a pained wheeze before he coughs more.

“Beetle. _Beetle_ \--” Booster coos at him, holding up a hand and staring at him with the most absurd look of concern. “Don’t choke him. Please don’t choke him.”

“No, I'm not the one doing this, this isn’t --!” Ted argues, removing his hand from the kid’s mouth to prove his point, as the child dangles in his arms and continues coughing, that wet, open-mouthed way kids do. “He’s just sick, that’s all. I was --” Ted catches himself. “He’s sick a lot.”

That’s why the house isn’t empty. That’s why this boy isn’t at school. One of his many bouts of pneumonia or flu or bronchitis. His _weak chest_ , as his dad used to mutter, surely one of the first ways Ted came to disappoint him.

“Put him _down,_ Beetle,” Rip tells him firmly, and Ted almost laughs in disbelief. Why are they all speaking to him like he’s some kind of crazed kidnapper? All he did was _act._ A little clumsily, perhaps, but his mom or the neighbors haven’t shown up, so it seems the crisis was averted. He was quick enough, shut him up fast enough.

But he makes a face and eases the coughing kid down on his feet again, Ted’s back protesting at the awkward position, the weight. So heavy.

Rip hunches down, looking at the bent over, wheezing child with gentle eyes. “It’s okay. It's okay, just take your time. Catch your breath,” he intones softly. “We’re not gonna hurt you. I’m _really sorry_ we scared you.”

The kid watches them intently with wide brown eyes as he draws a long, strained breath. Ted can see that he's missing his upper front teeth. Then he stumbles abruptly forward, towards the workbench, away from them all, before he turns looking at them, gripping the edge of the bench behind him as if for support. “Who are you?” he demands in a thin, shaky voice, coughing once more, and Ted can see how he tries puffing up his chest, trying to seem taller. Like a tiny kitten poofing up its fur.

Rip glances towards Ted, but it’s Booster who smiles and tells him in a bright voice: “We’re -- We're heroes! See, we--” He takes a small step forward and the child flinches violently back, bumping the back of his head against the workbench, prompting Booster to startle back too. “No, no, it’s okay! I’m not gonna -- I’m staying _right here._ No one’s grabbing you. I know we scared you, I’m sorry. You just scared us too.”

The child continues panting silently in fear, his gaze darting between them, like he's waiting for an attack from any one of them. Ted can imagine that little heart pounding like a hare’s. “What are you do-doing? Wh-why are you in our garage?”

“We -- We’re heroes in a bit of trouble,” Booster continues, glancing towards Rip, who nods stiffly, and continues: 

“We need some things to repair our... Our vehicle. We just wanted to borrow a few tools.”

“You broke in,” Ted’s younger self murmurs, glancing towards the side door, and Ted sees in his eyes the calculation, the planning, that the door might be his best means of escape. “Heroes don’t... buh-break in to people’s houses.”

“Sometimes they have to,” Booster replies quietly with a pained expression. “When they’re all alone, and in a place they shouldn’t be, and they, um, don’t know who’s safe to ask for help.”

That shallow breathing is starting to slow slightly, but those big brown eyes move restlessly between them. The face, dotted with late-summer freckles, is still flushed from his struggle with Ted.

“We need help,” Booster tells him softly, angling his head down, holding the child’s gaze. “Please. I promise you we’re good guys, and you seem like a good guy too. You could help us.”

The child frowns at him, confused, unconvinced. He glances towards the side door again. “I duh-don’t think you’re heroes.”

“You think we’d dress like this if we were, what? Insurance agents?” Booster grins, pulling at the collar of his costume, but the line doesn’t elicit a smile. “No, really, we--" He stands up a little taller, telling the kid brightly, "My name’s Booster Gold.” 

Ted casts a glance towards Rip, to see if he objects to the boy -- young Ted -- hearing their monikers, but Rip presses his lips together and keeps watching the child. Whatever way they've messed up, being spotted by Ted as a young boy, is probably worse than whatever harm they can do by using their hero names. But there's something new, nagging in the back of Ted's mind, it's just that with everything else going on he can't quite --

Next Booster points at Ted. “That one’s the Blue Beetle--"

Ted inhales sharply the moment he realizes. _That was it._ His mind is churning. When did Dan become active? Early seventies. Is this the seventies? He still doesn't know. If this kid knows about the Blue Beetle, he'll definitely realize Ted doesn't look anything like the Blue Beetle he knows.

But the boy doesn't say anything, doesn't react other than to look Ted up and down and back to Booster, who continues unaffected:

"And the one on the end is, um --”

“Rip Hunter,” Rip tells him softly. It makes Ted wonder on what occasions he goes by Time Master. If he actually refers to himself that way at all.

Booster grins brightly at the child. “See, two of us are color coded so it’s easy remembering our names. Rip’s you sort of just have to know. He’s the test we bring along to see if people are paying attention.”

There’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on the child’s round, freckled face, though he's obviously trying to suppress it. Ted blinks in wonder, turning to regard Booster for moment. It's like watching some kind of magic trick every time, how Booster can calm people down, begin to win them over. Something in his energy, in his smile. People can be panicking, they can be furious, and he'll put them at ease with a smile and a bit of banter.

“And what’s your name?” Rip asks, almost conversationally, and it makes Ted clear his throat. Of course. They all know the kid's name -- look at him, even Rip who's never seen Ted unmasked can easily tell they're the same person -- but they wouldn’t if they’re just random heroes stumbling in. So they ask.

The child’s nostrils flare slightly for several breaths, regarding them in silence, obviously pondering whether he should tell or not. Finally he murmurs almost inaudibly, glancing to his naked feet on the concrete floor; “Theo.”

Ted can see Booster trying to hide his surprise. _“Theo,_ " his partner murmurs, taken aback, then he smiles. “That’s a great name.” He glances, a little uncertain, towards Ted, who presses his lips together and nods once. Of course Booster doesn't know that there was a time before he was... Well, _Ted_. That came later, when they moved, when he was allowed that brief exhilarating moment when he could reinvent himself at a new school -- as much as an awkward, pudgy eleven year-old _can_ reinvent himself. 

He can't quite remember exactly why he was adamant at changing the name at that age. Only that it was different. Only that it sounded grown-up and capable, somehow.

But back in Balvadere he was just Theo.

“So how old are you?” Ted asks him, trying to force a smile. If he knew his age, he'd know what year they're in. They'd be one step closer to getting back home.

Theo doesn’t move his gaze from Booster. “I never heard about you buh-before,” he murmurs with a frown, little hand still gripping the workbench behind him.

“Well, we’re small fry! Only been at this for a few years," Booster shrugs with an easy smile. Then, obviously worried he's underselling their importance, he adds quickly, “We _work_ with the big guys, though.”

It's like a little electric switch has been turned on, Theo's eyes light up with breathless attention. _"Who?"_ he asks.

“Like, um --” Booster taps his fingertips against his thumb in turn. “Like... Batman! We know Batman.”

Theo angles his head, regarding him suspiciously. “Who is Batman?”

“Or, or -- “ Booster clears his throat, glancing helplessly towards Ted. Poor guy, called on to list heroes that were active several decades before he came here. “Oh! _Wildcat!”_ Booster beams with triumph, too excited to see the sharp little cut-off gesture Ted tried to telegraph by the first syllable.

This time Booster has the right era, and he knows full well Wildcat's one of Ted's biggest heroes, but what he does _not_ know --

"Oh." Theo tries not to grimace, slumping back against the workbench. "...Wildcat."

Booster stands there, deflated, confused. Unaware that at this age, Wildcat was just a dumb crime-fighting boxer in Ted's eyes, a lower-tier hero with no finesse, no exciting tech or gimmicks. No, Wildcat only rose in Ted’s esteem when he became an athlete himself, when he stopped obsessing so much about --

"Oh, and, uh --" Ted sighs, embarrassment churning inside him. It comes out like a strained mutter: “Captain Comet.”

Theo’s eyes widen immediately, his little body brimming with barely contained energy as he turns back to Booster. Why does he keep addressing Booster? “You know _Captain Comet?”_ The hushed awe in his voice makes Ted wrinkle his nose.

“Y...Yes,” Booster smiles, hesitating. “Absolutely.” And Ted knows immediately that Booster’s never fucking heard of Captain Comet. Of course he hasn't, nobody's thought of him in years. Comet went off-world in the late seventies and hasn’t been heard from since. Missing, probably long dead. Just another lesser hero that disappeared and was immediately forgotten by the world. 

What are childhood heroes, other than first lessons in disappointment?

“Have you, um, like did you -- Have you been in the Cometeer?” Theo asks Booster, a strange fervor in his eyes. Booster presses his lips together, smiling brightly though he clearly has absolutely no idea what to answer. It would be hilarious if this wasn’t all so ridiculous.

“His spaceship -- Well, _he_ hasn’t,” Ted explains conversationally, trying to shield Booster from follow-up questions. “Theo, tell us, where are your parents right now?”

“But _you_ have?” Theo regards him suspiciously, ignoring his question. Again. “You’ve really been inside?”

“Sure,” Ted murmurs, though he hasn't, chancing that he can remember enough from his fan magazines to convince a naïve, sick little child. No, obviously he can -- It was _his_ obsession, after all. “Theo, look, this is important --”

“Why can’t Captain Comet do it? Help you?” Theo has turned back to Booster again. Maybe taking a shine to Booster would be a constant for Ted at any age. Or maybe Booster's hesitation makes it seem like he'd the quickest one to crack under scrutiny.

Booster stutters. “Well-- He --”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Ted interjects tersely.

“You could talk to him te-tellypact--tellapat-- with your mind,” Theo volunteers, bright brown eyes still mercilessly set on Booster. 

Booster squirms. “We can’t really--”

Ted clenches his fists at his side. “He’s too far away.”

“Zackro did it from the North Pole!”

“No, okay, see --!” Ted tells him, and there’s an odd hiss to his voice. “Zackro used a mental resonator! We don’t have one of those just _lying around.”_

Theo remains fixed on Booster, unwilling to let go, like some kind of freckled little terrier. “He would know. That you would, uh, get in tuh-trouble, with his future-sight.”

“He can’t do that for every single thing!” Ted snaps back, a little too loud, making Theo flinch back. There's a flair of unease in Ted, at raising his voice, that others might hear him have this ridiculous conversation with the child of house. About _Captain Comet,_ of all things. Just an obscure underachiever -- he wasn't even a big deal in _this_ age.

Ted sucks air between his teeth and speaks more softly, a calming hand raised towards Theo. “He’s not an option for us right now, okay? He’s -- _busy._ On another planet.”

Theo looks at him -- no, _studies_ him, a sulking frown on his face. It's very disorienting, your argus-eyed younger self intently looking you over like that.

“No, he’s right, Theo.” Booster speaks in the softest voice Ted’s ever heard him use. “Captain Comet can’t help us right now. But you might be the next best thing, actually.”

Theo turns back to Booster, his expression intrigued, softening a little. He trails a small, plump hand along the back of Ted's dad's chair. Thinking. “What is, uh-- What kind of trouble is it? That you're in?” His gaze flicks towards Rip. "Is it why you hurt you hand?"

Rip pauses, flexing a bandaged hand. "Well, it's... not unrelated." He offers little Theo a friendly, lopsided smile. “We came here completely by accident, you know. To this neighborhood. We’re not supposed to be here at all, so it’s very important nobody knows about us.”

“Are you on a, uh, like a... mission?”

“Yes, we’re on a mission!” Booster nods and grins. “And we have a ship too.” 

That switch has been flicked on again. There’s a short, awed gasp from Theo, silly on its own but even more embarrassing because all it does is start a new bout of wet, tortured coughing. Ted can practically hear the slime in those lungs, feel the tightness and pain in his own throat. Finally Theo draws a long, strained breath, looking at Booster again with brimming eyes. "Where is it?"

"Oh, I don't know the name of the street," Booster shrugs with an embarrassed smile. "There's a bunch of trees near a field and a white house, it--"

“Our ship is broken," Rip cuts in, absentmindedly massaging his bandaged hand. "And we, um, need some tools to fix it so we can leave, get back on our mission. That’s why we came in here, we were looking for tools we can borrow. Just borrow, for a little while.”

Theo’s gaze flicks towards the steel chest in the corner. “In there? But it’s locked.”

“We _know_ it’s locked,” Ted mutters, and Booster shoots him a frown.

“Do you know if there's a key?” Booster asks, and this time it's Ted that sends him a disbelieving glare, because they _know_ there’s a key. Of course there’s a key, and they can’t get to it, it’s in his dad’s wallet. They're wasting time interrogating a sick child about things they already know. What are they even achieving, humoring this boy?

“My dad has it.” 

“And where is your dad?”

“He's at work,” Theo chokes out in a strangled voice before he succumbs to coughing again. “He--” Hacking coughs, the little back curved forward. “He’s--”

“Take your time, it's okay,” Booster tells him gently, sitting down on the concrete floor, legs crisscross with his hands resting on his knees. When Theo’s coughing fit has passed again, Booster holds his gaze and nods once, questioningly, the same way he's done countless times with Ted in the middle of League battles, or across crowded rooms. That little check-in, the silent _You okay?_ Theo nods solemnly back. “And your mom? Where’s she?”

“I-- uh, I don’t know,” Theo murmurs haltingly. “She had... things she needed to do, and I fell asleep. I know she had to go buy fabrics for the cushions, and help Mrs. Chenowitz, and, and, and something else.” Theo interlaces his fingers, twisting his hands as he thinks. “Are you gonna ask them for help when they get back? My parents?”

“That’s the thing,” Rip grimaces only slightly. “We definitely can’t.”

“This mission we’re on is kinda top secret,” Booster interjects at Theo’s frown. _“Super_ top secret. No one can know we’re in this neighborhood at all. Absolutely no one, or the mission’s fu-- ruined.”

Theo squints an eye, still twisting his fingers together. “But _I_ know.”

“Yeah!” Booster nods enthusiastically from his seat on the floor. “So now you’re on the mission too, see? You’re part of the team now, practically a superhero. Just like Captain Comet!”

Theo presses his lips together, obviously trying to fight the excited grin that's becoming more and more obvious on his face.

“Or -- oh! Wait, wait,” Booster frowns at the floor and rubs his chin, before he looks Theo up and down. “I don’t know if you’re old enough to be part of a superhero mission. There are rules, you know. How old are you?”

Ted looks at them in wonder. He doesn’t know whether to be fascinated at how good Booster is at extracting information, or embarrassed at what a naïve child he was to fall for tricks like these.

Theo draws up to his full height, which to Ted seems practically microscopic. “Oh, I’m, uh-- I’m twelve!”

“You are _not_ twelve!” Ted scoffs sharply, wrinkling his nose. They didn’t even _live_ here when he was twelve, for God’s sake. “You're really gonna _lie_ to us? Theo, this is actually important!”

 _“Beetle!”_ Booster snaps at him through clenched teeth, his fists balled up hard against his upper thighs. “Can you _please_ go -- over there and....” He exhales at length, the air whistling between his lips. “Use your... Tricorder or something?”

Ted gives him a disbelieving look. What is he, crazy? “Booster --”

 _“Go."_ Booster’s jaw is clenched, the anger in his eyes so unmistakable it makes memories of Kooey Kooey Kooey flash in Ted's mind.

Ted sighs, annoyed and confused, and walks the four or five steps to the shelving in the opposite corner, looking it up and down with theatrical intensity.

_Tricorder._

_For God’s sake._

“Sorry. I’m really sorry,” he hears Booster’s soft voice, not directed at him but at... Well, _him._ Young him. Little Theo. Apologizing to the kid who could easily have messed up their journey home with a vain lie, it's ridiculous. “Actually, the mission age limit is...” There’s an awkward pause. _“Four._ You’re older than four, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, that’s great!" Booster tells him brightly. "You’re old enough to be part of the team. Welcome aboard, buddy!” When he speaks again, Ted can hear the confidential smile in his voice. “So how old are you really?”

There's a moment of guilty silence. "...I didn't mean to lie. I'm sorry." Theo's voice a thin little murmur.

"No, it's okay. There are even adults who lie about their age, you know." Booster stretches out his long legs on the floor, sitting back and resting on his palms. "I'm twenty-five, though. Scout's honor." Booster pauses, then chuckles softly. "That probably seems really old to you, huh? Like, _ancient."_

Theo giggles in shy agreement, which sets off another cough. He clears his throat. "I'm six."

Rip turns to look at Ted, raising his eyebrows as a silent question, and Ted nods subtly back. Sure. six, that should fit, that is probably right.

And it’s obviously fall, so...

1968.

They’ve fallen out of the timestream, they're stuck in _nineteen sixty-fucking-eight._

“So. Uh,” Theo murmurs, hesitating. “What’s the mission?”

Booster exhales through closed lips, hesitant. “Well, we’re kinda still in the planning stages right now. But first thing you can do --”

“Uh huh?”

“Could you go put on some, uh, _socks,_ and slippers? If you have them?” Booster sits up again, rubbing his gloved hands together. “It’s kinda cold in here. You must be freezing.”

Out of the corner of his eye Ted sees Theo tilt his head up, smiling bravely. “I’m alright.”

“No, look," Booster tells him sternly. "You’re an important part of the team now and we don’t want you any sicker.” He gets back to his feet, brushing grit and dust off his tights. “Go on, Theo.”

“Alright, I won’t be a minute!" In another moment, Theo has pulled open the door into the house, both hands on the knob, and hurried through, quicker than you'd expect an overweight six year-old with some kind of respiratory infection to be. Ted halfway remembers that his room must be at the south end of the bungalow. He had a big wooden dresser, he remembers that now, with drawers so heavy there was a time he had trouble opening them on his own, but he was probably even younger then. From the fight Theo gave him earlier when he was trying to hold him, he seems strong enough for drawers twice as heavy.

He contemplates this, turning around to see Booster frowning at him.

“What?” Ted asks.

“Are you kidding me?" Booster whispers at him, an angry hiss. "What's going on with you?"

Ted tenses in anger. _Gee, what could be going on with me?_ The guy whose actual past they're trampling around in, stuck in, while they have to tiptoe around his six year old self? The guy who has to keep wondering that even if they do make it out of the tail-end of the sixties, they might have changed everything about him, about his life? "Excuse me?"

Booster exhales, studying him. "Look, I've... I've seen you around kids, you're great, they adore you! You talk to them like -- like little adults and make them feel all smart and grown up." He gestures, frustrated, towards the house. "So why are you treating _him_ like he's your arch enemy or something?"

Ted scoffs, glancing towards hallway, trying not to notice the familiarity of the furniture in there. “Is that some kind of joke? Do you hear what you’re saying?”

“Yeah, I’m saying every time we manage to earn a little bit of trust you scare him off again!”

“Look, that --” Ted gestures towards the door, lowering his voice further. “That boy is _me,_ you do realize that? I think if _anybody_ knows what he can handle, it should be me.”

“You're being an asshole to him and we need his help, so maybe drop whatever psychological self-hate session you've got going and --”

"Oh, therapist Booster strikes again, huh?" Ted grimaces at him, self-conscious and angry. "And what kind of help are you expecting from someone like him? He's barely more than a toddler!"

“You can fight later,” Rip murmurs at them, looking unfamiliarly ill at ease. “I want us to just-- Beetle, if he’s six, what year is this?”

Ted clears his throat, embarrassed at Rip seeing them act like this. “1968.”

Booster's frown eases for a moment and he blinks in surprise, avoiding Ted's gaze. Probably it's dawning on him just how far they are from their own time. If they get stuck here, Booster will almost be twice his current age by the time they catch up.

Rip exhales through his nose, studying Ted. “And now that you -- _he’s_ seen us, what do you remember about this whole event?”

Oh.

Ted blinks. And he searches his brain, his memories, with anxious focus. He _ought to_ remember these costumes. He should remember that time he woke up and found three grown men rooting around in their garage when he was home alone, saying absurd things about a superhero team. It’d be _completely insane_ to forget something like that, even at six years old. 

He chews his lip and meets Rip’s gaze. “I... don’t.”

“Ah. Okay then.” Rip walks over and drops down into the chair in front of the work bench, seeming for all the world to take that piece of information in his stride. Except Ted could see the infinitesimal moment his eyes widened when he heard.

“What does that mean?” Ted asks, and his voice comes out more strained than he'd like, cold panic starting to creep into his veins. “Rip. What does it mean when I can’t remember?”

“Well, it’s, um --” Rip makes a pained grin, staring into space. “It’s not _great.”_

Booster spins to stare at them. “What?” His hand clutches Rip’s shoulder. _“Why_ isn’t it great? Rip.”

Rip leans forward, massaging his forearm where he shocked it earlier. “I-I don’t know, uh, there are too many variables here. I don’t know... Exactly." He inhales deeply through his nose, raising a bandaged hand to massage the bridge of his nose with closed eyes. “I couldn't -- I'd have researched, and I would have... I don't know. Why don't I know? How can I be this stupid?”

“Rip, you’re kinda freaking me out here,” Booster squeaks, hunching down at Rip's side, studying him. Ted is only dimly aware of their conversation, his head spinning with too many possibilities. Why wouldn’t he remember? He ought to have grown up and remembered. So that must mean -- What? He doesn’t grow up? Something that happens today changes the entire course of his life? Or... ends it?

Maybe he’s dead. Maybe he’s long dead, just like Captain Comet, and his presence in this time is just... The last little remnant of his existence. The last moments of his life, going back in time and stopping it all from ever happening.

“Rip!” Booster pleads. “You need to tell us what you _know!”_

Rip's hands drop to his lap, and he stares, unfocused, at the floor. "I... don't, not anything. I guess it-- Some anomaly I haven't considered. Some _factor_ I'm being too stupid to see. I just need to, um, find whatever it is, I-I need to --”

“So what do we do now?” That thin, excited voice, just a little hoarse from whatever ailment he's currently suffering from. It's still so bizarre to Ted hearing that voice outside of his own head. The boy stands proud in the opening to the house, still in those orange pajamas -- but now also wearing pale blue socks pulled up, pants legs gathered in them, and dark purple soft-looking slippers that look about two sizes too big.

“Theo!” Booster grins, but when he lets out the breath he's been holding it's a little too heavy, a little too strained. _“Great_ slippers, buddy. Um --” He turns towards Rip, still sitting slumped and dazed in the chair, and there's an anxious plea in Booster's eyes. “We’re still figuring out our next move, actually. Um... Rip? Rip-a-roonie. Any thoughts?”

“Oh, uhh--” There’s a wavering to Rip’s voice as he speaks. He sits up, closing his eyes for a moment, then shudders slightly. “I'm sorry. Ah. Yeah. Sorry. Theo!" He turns and offers one of his friendly, gentle smiles at the young boy, and Ted is shocked at the abrupt change in Rip, how calm he suddenly seems. "Either one of your parents might be home soon, right? And I’m guessing this garage will be their first stop?”

Theo’s eyes flick towards the closed garage door. “...Probably.”

The prospect makes Ted's jaw clench.

“So this is not a great place for us to be hiding,” Rip explains softly. “I think... Our first order of business should be to find somewhere they won’t find us right away. Then we can figure out the rest.”

“Behind the house? The garden?” Booster suggests.

“Too many eyes out there, the neighbors might see us,” Rip murmurs, glancing towards the door to the house. Then he turns back to Theo. “Do you have a basement, or... or a storage room, something like that?”

“No. No basement.” Theo pauses and thinks with an intensity that makes Ted want to snort. Acting like he’s actually part of the conversation, that his input is valuable beyond saying yes or no to simple practical questions. “There’s a... Cleaning cupboard," he volunteers, raising his head again. "But it’s, uh, small, and full of things. _I_ fit in there.”

"Ah," Rip nods solemnly. "But we probably wouldn't?"

The boy nods.

"Okay," Rip breathes, angling his head back and closing his eyes, and it makes Ted wonder if he's going to slip back into a fit of despair again. "Sorry," Rip murmurs with a smirk, eyes still closed. "I swear I'm not usually-- I thought, uh, this wouldn't be too different, but I'm just... just a little more --"

“You should hide in my room.”

Three pairs of eyes stare at the little child, who pauses to cough some more, unconcerned as always with covering his mouth.

“You’re home alone sick,” Ted points out in a low voice. “I’m pretty sure the moment your parents get home they’ll go in there to check on you.” Well, one of his parents, in any case.

Theo raises his round little chin. “I have a cuh-closet. And space under the bed.” 

“We’re kinda a lot bigger and taller than your friends playing hide and seek,” Ted mutters, annoyed.

“Beetle,” Booster hisses at him, that anger from before edging his voice.

“You’ll fit,” Theo tells them soberly. “I know you will fit.”

“Well, whether we fit or not, we need to get out of this garage,” Rip mutters, already on his feet and heading for the door into the house. “Let’s go.”

“That's a bad idea,” Ted objects weakly, watching the gang move relentlessly out into the hallway. The house. "There are a ton of better options!" he exclaims at them, though he's not sure what they might be, and they're already turned the corner, gone from view.

He stands there impotently, hearing their steps moving further inside. Inside where... He really doesn't want to go. This is _crazy._ This is absolutely insane, and in their hour of need everyone would rather listen to his six year-old feverish self than the actual adult Ted Kord.

Even Booster. 

All Ted did was act. All he did was shut up a panicking child, and then call him out for lying. And suddenly _he’s_ the bad guy?

One of the group has turned around, one set of footsteps approaching him again, and deep in his beating heart Ted imagines that's what his dad footsteps would sound like, if he finds him. When he finds him. But it's Booster's face that peeks through the door, cheeks subtly flushed with annoyance. “Yeah, are you gonna fucking join us or what?”

Ted snorts, clenching his fists at his side so Booster won't see them tremble. “Oh right. Right. Three strange men getting discovered in a little kid’s room is way less incriminating than a garage...!”

Booster rolls his eyes. “We’re not gonna get discovered! That’s why we’re setting up base there instead.”

“Yeah, those teddy bears and model trains are gonna give us a real tactical advantage.”

Booster snorts and reaches a hand forward, trying to grab hold of Ted’s arm, but Ted shrugs him off and steps back.

“What the hell’s going on with you?” Booster hisses. “Why are you acting so fucking weird?”

“Because it _is_ weird!” Ted’s voice comes out more high-pitched than he intended it to be. “Everything ab-about this is _fucking weird,_ and every--" He grimaces and clears his throat. "And everything we do seems to make it worse.”

"I know that!" Booster hisses back, then he turns away and presses the heel of his hand to his forehead for a moment. When he continues speaking, it's a fraction softer: "So I need you to just -- Just play nice, and follow Rip's fucking lead, okay? Rip'll get us home."

It hasn't truly dawned on Ted until now. That Booster is scared as well. Terrified like Ted is terrified. But Booster saw how Rip was falling apart just now, he knows how crazy and unfair and hopeless this is, and he kept -- he _keeps_ taking Rip's and Theo's sides in this. There's no gentleness in Ted's voice when he gestures towards the open door and asks, "How does going in there help us get home?" 

Booster turns, looking at him with a flare of -- of something in his eyes, like misery and anger and pain all in one. "I don't _know,"_ he breathes. "I don't know anything, but if Rip thinks it'll help, we --"

"Oh yeah, Rip'll fix it, Rip'll fix everything!" Ted sneers, recalling the sinking feeling in his gut when he saw how out of his depth Rip seemed moments ago. When he caught a glimpse of just how catastrophic this entire mission had become. "What good has Rip been so far, huh? What's he done, other than to get us into this mess in the first place?"

"I--" Booster steps up right in front him, tall body tensed with anger, and he pushes two fingertips against Ted's chest as he speaks in a low voice: "I'm not going to stand here and fight with you until your dad comes home and finds us."

Ted flinches but only barely.

Low blow. A cheap shot when Booster should know better. When he knows the kind of nightmare Ted's dad was. He's about to let him know, when Booster preemptively cuts him off:

"Or is that part of _your_ brilliant plan? Are you gonna tell us soon, because I haven't heard a single fucking idea from you." Booster snorts, stepping back. "All you seem to want to do is scaring off the kid and shooting down every suggestion that might get us out of here." 

"All I'm saying --"

"So say it in there!" Booster hisses with tense finality, wrapping a hand around Ted's shoulder and shoving him past himself, towards the door into the house.

Ted snorts and obeys this time, mostly because of the the reminder that sooner or later his dad will be coming home, looking to park the car in the garage. Alright, he knows that's a bad place to be. Doesn't mean his childhood bedroom is a better option.

He tries focusing on his annoyance, his anger, stepping through that humble little home, but his eyes can't help but wander, his legs can't help but slow. The garage was one thing, but garages look like garages.

Every single one of his senses seem fired up with a strange, insistent nostalgia. Memories, but not the soft, dim kind he feels from looking at his few keepsakes or photographs.

Everything is here, everything is real. Memories he didn't know he had retained, that had stayed dormant inside him for decades, unimportant but somehow still carried within him. The angle of the light through the wide windows. The barely noticeable sloping of the floor. The dark yellow couch, the memory of how the short plush felt against his skin. The embroidered table cloth on the low coffee table with the heirloom silver-plated Shabbat candlesticks. The small wood-burning stove in the corner, above which his mother would hang up wet coats in winter, the water dripping down and sizzling on the black iron.

And the smell. The realization that wherever he’s ever lived, the smell has been unique to that place. There’s a warm, subtly nutty smell to this house, this living room -- the kind that seems to linger so far back in his nose it feels like he's sensing it practically behind his eyes.

More than anything, it reminds him so vividly of...

His mom.

Booster's hand against his shoulder again. “The kid’s room’s around the corner here,” he murmurs to keep him moving.

Ted exhales and continues onward. “Yeah. I know.”

There’s an embarrassed grunt from Booster, but Ted doesn’t have the presence of mind to address it. Because everything here is... too perfect. It's unnerving. It doesn't feel like wandering through a photograph, or some exhibit honoring the unremarkable beginnings of the Blue Beetle. This is the real deal, the smell is real, the light, the things, the dimensions of the room. And he shouldn’t be here to see it exactly like it was, because this house was torn down to make way for a factory plot decades ago.

Finally they step into the kid’s -- his -- bedroom, and Ted's grateful it doesn't pack the same dizzying punch after he already saw a glimpse of it in the time machine. The toys, the bed, the bookshelves. Theo is seated at the desk that's just a little too tall for him, his expression darkening when he sees Ted enter. The wall behind him are covered with colorful drawings, most of them childish scribbles depicting Captain Comet, judging from the red and white of the costume. 

Ted glances about the room. “We’ve lost Rip.”

“Bathroom,” Booster shrugs, something tense in his shoulders still.

 _“This_ is when he chooses to take a leak?”

"He said, _'when an opportunity presents itself...'_ " Booster stops and indicates Theo subtly with a nod of his head, then looks expectantly at Ted, like he's waiting for him to say something.

Ted stares back, frustrated, dumbfounded, and Booster tilts his head back and sighs.

"Hey.” Booster walks over to Theo and smiles. “You’ve got some neat stuff, man.”

Ted snorts to himself. Yeah, enjoy your stuffed toys and plastic monsters while you can, kid. In a few years your dad will decide to switch them all out with _educational_ ones, mechanical sets and math puzzles and chemistry models, the implication ever-present that Ted should be smarter, do better, focus only on learning. His dad removing every conceivable distraction and putting nothing but objects of science and education into his long-suffering lab mouse's cage.

But then he _did_ enjoy the mechanical sets and math puzzles and chemistry models...

“Hey, what’s that?” Booster asks brightly, pointing to the pile of small intricate pieces of plastic and metal on the child’s desk, a vague construction starting to take shape in the middle. Ted squints at it from across the room, trying to remember.

“Oh, uh,” Theo squirms a little. “It’s a model of the --” Short intake of breath. “CSM dash one oh three.” 

He even pronounces the dash.

“Hm!” Booster nods, seemingly very impressed at this. “And what’s that?”

“Apollo 8,” Ted and Theo say in perfect unison, making Ted clear his throat and turn his back to them, pretending to study the bookshelf with rapt attention. It’s mostly classics, anyway, no doubt on his dad’s insistence. Dumas, Dickens, Verne.

“Neat!” Booster squats down next to Theo's chair, admiring the unfinished model. “And what’s Apollo 8?”

There’s an abrupt giggle from Theo. “Why don’t you know that?” The amused disbelief is barely contained in his voice.

Booster giggles too. “Well, sorry, I don’t follow --” He gestures vaguely at the model. “This.”

“It’s the, uh, spacecraft they’re building in Florida,” Theo tells him quietly.

"Yeah?"

Theo glances from the model to Booster's face, almost like he's surprised to still hold his attention. “It has a... Saturn V rocket. Which, uh, is the same rocket they used in the Apollo 6 except they -- they changed it a little bit, to get rid of the, the pogo os--oscilla-tion --” He angles his head, indicating the inside of the unfinished model with his index finger. “And this rocket, it’s, uh, it’s gonna let them do something called a tra--translunar injection man-neuver--” he stumbles only slightly on the term, then continues without catching his breath: “And it’s really neat because that means they’ll get a thing, uh, an ee-longated elliptical --”

Ted can’t take another moment of this. _“God!”_ he groans, flushing with second-hand (or is it first-hand?) embarrassment. “It was-- It’s gonna be the space program’s first manned orbit of the moon. _Okay?”_ He sends the child a glare. “That’s all you needed to say. That’s literally all he was asking for!”

He sees Theo tense and look down in scolded shame. Good, he should feel that way. Ted's feeling increasingly embarrassed himself, that Booster should see that he used to be like this, with no sense of when to shut up about his special interests. Before he knew that the science, the intricate parts, you keep that to yourself, you only discuss those with the other nerds, the other obsessives.

When normal people ask him about his inventions, about whatever area of technology he's currently fixated on, he knows to dumb it down, give them the shortest possible summary, a single sentence, laughably simplified but still factually correct.

Theo doesn't know yet. Doesn't know you don't infodump on unsuspecting regular people who only feigned interest to be polite.

No wonder he struggled so hard to make friends when they moved from this neighborhood. The moment people got him talking he’d just unload every piece of nerdy trivia he knew on them and they’d be weirded out, searching for the nearest exit.

“Hey, no, no, no --” Booster sends Ted a dagger of a glare before turning back to Theo, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I think that’s _super cool,_ actually. I had no idea about any of that stuff!”

God. How is it Ted is losing a popularity contest to his six year-old self?

“Wanna tell me more about it?” Booster asks with a gentle smile, still hunched down next to the desk. “The orbit they’re gonna do?”

Theo frowns at the floor, lips pressed together tightly.

Ted sighs, a little relieved. “Good, we kinda have more pressing matters to --”

“You’re really into this space stuff, huh? You really like it,” Booster continues, not even deigning to give Ted a look.

Theo nods hesitantly, not looking up, then murmurs softly, “Captain Comet goes to space all the time, but this is kinda, they’re, um, it’s the first time regular people leave the earth's... orbit. Like they’re building this spacecraft, and they’re going up there with no superpowers.”

“Yeah, that's awesome! That's like... Actual history happening,” Booster concurs with enthusiasm. “I can see why you wanna build that model.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. But-- no,” Theo squirms, a pained frown on his face. “I was going to. Uncle Jarvis, he bought it for me, and, uh --” 

Everything in Ted’s body tenses from one moment to the next, just hearing that evil name. A surge of nausea traveling up to the very back of his throat.

“I told everyone at school, and Mrs. Fleischer said I could show everyone in, in class when I had built it,” Theo continues unhappily, his voice quiet. “But I... I snapped something. I broke it. And I tried gluing it but I can’t -- it won't --” He carefully picks up the unfinished construction in his little hands and indicates something to Booster that Ted can’t see. “And I cuh-can’t tell dad, and I can’t tell uncle Jarvis and I can’t tell Mrs. Fleischer and I--” His voice is wavering, on the brink of crying, and Booster squeezes him by the shoulder, turning Theo towards him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Booster tells him softly, looking into his eyes. “Shit hap-- I mean, stuff like that happens! Theo. Everyone breaks things sometimes.”

Rip enters the room, looking over the people and furniture like a general planning a battle.

“Like, we even broke our _ship_ on our way here,” Booster grins. “Isn’t that right, Rip?”

“What?” Rip blinks at him, then walks over to the window, observing the narrow strip of lawn outside. “Oh, sure. Yes.”

“See? Heroes too!” Booster tells him brightly. “Even Captain Comet must have bumped into a vase at some point.”

There’s a flicker of a smirk on Theo’s face, his eyes still brimming with tears.

Ted clears his throat. He can’t recall this little drama with the broken spacecraft model, but the reaction feels familiar to his core -- not just the grief and shame of ruining an object that was meaningful to him, but the horror of failure, the sickening humiliation of not living up to people's expectations. Not to mention the eternal dread of his dad punishing him for breaking something expensive.

God, the thought makes him bristle. His dad _would_ \-- and probably _did_ \-- punish him or yell at him for this silly little mishap. Like the weeks of guilt and misery wasn’t punishment enough, and the unfinished model sitting on his desk as a daily painful reminder of his clumsiness and failure. When he got older he’d do his best to cover something like this up, pour the pieces in a bag and deposit it in someone else’s trash can, guilt and shame eating him up all the same, to the point where even thinking about it years later would make him cringe, but at this age he was probably too scared to even consider the thought of destroying the evidence.

There's no end to the little moments of misery he thought he'd forgotten.

It feels so deeply unfair having to be here, reliving all of this. He’s already gone through it, survived it, moved past it, left his dad and his past behind him. This house, this neighborhood that doesn't exist anymore, he was free from them. Free from them and all the later houses, the later neighborhoods, all the misery that came later.

And not only does he have to relive it -- now Booster can see it. See everything. Rip, too, a person he'd barely exchanged a dozen words with, suddenly with a first-row view of his most private issues and flaws. These parts of him that he thought he'd managed to suppress and hide, cover up with comedy and an outwardly-seeming carefree attitude.

Now Booster knows he was pathetic and nervous and weird all along, now those traits will forever seem ten times as obvious to him, in present-day Ted.

_It’s not fair._

“Can we, uh," Ted begins, his voice wavering a little. "Decide on a plan now, please?”

“Yes,” Rip concedes, and it makes Ted feel a self-satisfied glow inside, finally justified. Enough with this child-humoring inanity. 

Booster casts another glance at Theo, offering a another check-in nod before facing Rip. “Okay, so -- what are our options?”

Rip frowns, exhaling through his nose. “I don't see many right now. Other than getting inside that chest in the garage.”

"And me who forgot to bring my blowtorch," Ted mutters.

“So, in summary,” Rip continues, ignoring Ted. Everyone seems to enjoy ignoring Ted today. “There’s only one key, and it’s in your--” His hand is already raised, moving downward to indicate Ted, but Rip swiftly twists around so his hand points to Theo instead. “Your father’s wallet?”

Theo nods, delivering another tongue-curled cough.

“Does he open that box often?” Rip asks Theo, the doubt obvious in his voice. “I mean, is it likely he might open it tonight?”

They all stare at Theo as he presses his lips together and scrunches his fever-flushed face into something that’s probably meant to indicate deep thought. Seconds tick past. “I don’t know,” Theo concludes at last.

Ted groans through his nose before he feels Booster elbow him in the side.

Theo ponders it some more. “Most times, he -- he, uh, works inside there on weekends.”

“And what day is it now?” Booster asks.

Theo titters for a moment at the question. "You don't know that?" He smiles wider when Booster grins at him and shrugs his shoulders theatrically. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Ah. Okay, um --” Rip pauses, rubbing his forehead with a palm as he thinks. “So if we could -- could influence him to go in there, I don't know -- break something he needs to repair? Make him open it up, and I guess --” He pulls his fingers through his blonde curls, gaze unfocused. “Distract him? I guess we could, uh, ring the doorbell, or --”

“That's a lot of maybes,” Booster grimaces. “Any other ideas?”

“We steal the key,” Ted murmurs, anxiety tensing his core at the thought. The others look at him, prompting him to frown and set his jaw, seeming more confident than he feels. “I mean, it’s in his wallet, and he usually leav--”

 _“Tss!”_ Rip hisses at him like he’s trying to scare off a cat.

 _Oh. Right. This charade again._ Ted turns to address the kid, still seated at the desk, slippered feet dangling from the chair. “Theo?” he asks, trying to hide the exhaustion in his voice. “Do you know... Where your dad keeps his wallet when he’s home?”

Theo frowns at him, kicking his dangling feet.

“Buddy, please,” Booster urges with a smile. "You're part of the team. We really need your expertise here."

“It’s... On the dresser. In their room. The bedroom,” Theo murmurs, barely audible.

_Well, obviously._

“Okay, so, uh,” Rip begins, thinking. “We should unlock the bedroom window, aaand... When he's home we sneak back in and grab--”

“Door, _door, door,”_ Booster whispers abruptly with wide eyes, turning towards them. “I heard a door!”

It's like an electric charge through the room, everyone on high alert, everyone ready to take action.

_Someone’s home._

Ted springs over to the closet at the end of the room, his pulse beating in his ears, and Booster and Rip are right behind him. He flings the closet door open, and --

It’s stuffed with boxes and clothes. Not a single one of them would fit in there.

Now Ted can hear footsteps, the distinct sound of shoes approaching at a measured pace, heel-toe, heel-toe, _tap-tap, tap-tap._ And it’s coming towards them.

He sees Booster anxiously regarding the space under the desk, but that’d be madness. They’d see him the moment they came in, whoever it is that's approaching, coming closer and closer (His dad? His mom? A neighbor? Who’d be the best case scenario for finding three strangely clad adult men in a young child’s room?).

They’re trapped. Fucking trapped, because they believed the little idiot when he said they’d have perfect hiding spots in here. Ted knew it, he told them. He told them! He knew they'd be better off literally anywhere else but right here.

He hears a soft shuffling sound behind him, and turns to see Rip opening the window, pushing it open and grimacing at using his bandaged hand. He glances back at them, silently motioning them to follow as he lifts a leg, ducks under the panel, and in one surprisingly fluid motion he’s dropped the short distance down to the lawn below. 

The footsteps outside the door seems to have made a short detour now. Somewhere off to the side, maybe the bathroom. But all too close for comfort, all too likely to continue their way in here, so Ted silently, desperately, pushes Booster towards the window. 

Booster knocks over a box for a jigsaw puzzle as he struggles to maneuver his tall body through the narrow opening, the jigsaw pieces clattering inside the cardboard box as it tumbles over on its side. 

Ted's body is jittery and tingling with energy as he stands there, waiting for Booster to work his way through to the outside. He glances back to see Theo, pale and wide-eyed, still frozen in his seat at the desk. “Get in bed!” Ted hisses at the kid, lips drawn back in a sneer, and for once Theo listens to him, rushing to the bed and jumping in, slippers still on, and he starts fumbling to pull his blanket up.

The footsteps are approaching again, right outside, immediately close, _tap-tap, tap-tap._

Finally Booster bends back and slips through to the outside, his suit catching on the open lock to the window, probably scratching up his back, but then he's free and drops down on the lawn, a muffled grunt at the impact. Too much adrenaline in his body, probably, to focus enough to fly the short distance down.

It's too late. Too late, too close, the footsteps coming up right outside the door, about to see a strange man in blue spandex either standing stunned in a child's room, or halfway out the window like a burglar.

 _Little idiot, telling them the closet would have room!_ Room in the closet, room under the bed.

The bed!

Ted dives towards the floor by the bed, absorbing the impact on his palms to lessen the noise as well as he can. Then quick as his body is able to move, he squirms desperately under the bed, seeing the bottom of the door as it swings open inches behind him. 

And he lies, frozen, on the carpeted floor under the bed. There’s just enough room. Barely. Just enough to obscure him if nobody sits down or glances just below the edge of the sheet. He opens his mouth, not daring to breathe through his nose in case there’d be a subtle whistling sound. Safer to breathe as calmly as he can through parted lips, fight against that idiot instinct to hold his breath, because holding his breath will only result in a loud gasp in a few minutes.

His heart is thundering in his chest, in his head, in his ears, but he knows well enough that even though it seems like a bass drum inside him it's not audible, it's not a giveaway. Just lie here, hidden, without moving, without making a single noise.

That little idiot. He said there’s be room. He said --

“Theodore?” 

The voice is so soft. So familiar, perhaps the most familiar any voice can be. That voice that makes it feel like his heart will stop and burst and bleed from how he's missed hearing it for years, for a decade.

His mother, right there in the room. When she was still alive.

**Author's Note:**

> For the first time ever in AGKoL history, a two-parter becomes a three-parter, sorry! Just having a little too much fun exploring a multitude of things here.
> 
> I try to make it very clear that Ted is normally very good with kids, but he's, you know, going through some shit. Wow, that sounds like something someone should explore further in part three.
> 
> Also it feels DEEPLY ILLEGAL not using a song title from the 80s or 90s, but then this is the first chapter to take place entirely in another decade.
> 
>  **[Song:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
>  Yester-me, yester-you, yesterday - Stevie Wonder


End file.
